


Frequent Flyer

by red_to_black



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Buck and his many past lives, Buck's nickname is now bad luck Buck, Eddie Diaz is a relentless piner, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_to_black/pseuds/red_to_black
Summary: In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer.(Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 890





	Frequent Flyer

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is the result of me and ashavahishta staying up way too late and discussing how accident prone buck is and how much worse that would be if he wasn't a firefighter.
> 
> featuring buck switching jobs every week, a betting pool, and one sexually vanilla eddie diaz. enjoy. 
> 
> you can find me at www.allyourfandomsbelongtous.tumblr.com. twitter causes brain rot.

The first time Firehouse 118 meets Evan Buckley, it’s a Tuesday.

It’s actually a relatively normal call – a coffee machine has somehow exploded and showered a few employees in steaming hot milk. When they get there, Eddie is more fascinated at just how far a coffee machine can go when it explodes, rather than anyone in the building.

“Alright, split off,” Bobby says. “Chim, you get the manager. Hen, the two waitresses. Eddie, you get the barista.”

The barista is a tall blonde with big blue eyes and a guileless grin. He’s cradling his arm, but he walks over to Eddie sheepishly – he can’t be that badly hurt. He also looks a little ridiculous in an apron clearly designed for a woman half his size – it’s almost childlike on his muscular frame.

“Hi,” he says. “I think I exploded it.”

“How’d you manage that?” Eddie sets his kit down, grabs a chair for the barista to sit on. “Can I take a look?”

He holds out his arm. “I think I tried to use the milk frother too much,” he says, but he’s frowning like he’s not really sure. “I’ve only been here a week. I think I’m fired.”

Eddie bites down on a grin. “What’s your name?”

“Evan Buckley. But people just call me Buck.”

“Nice to meet you, Buck.” He inspects the burns. “These should heal fine on their own,” he says. “Have you washed it?”

“Just water,” Buck says.

“Alright.” Eddie pulls out one of their lighter bandages. “I’ll cover it up for you,” he says. “Keep it elevated if you can, yeah?”

“Okay.”

He looks up, because his patient doesn’t sound like he’s paying attention – there’s a few pink marks on his eye, as well, and Eddie curses, wondering how he missed a facial injury. It should’ve been the first place he looked.

He moves up, towards the eye – Buck grabs his hand quickly. “I ah,” he says, and smiles sheepishly. “It’s a birthmark.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, settling back. It’s a strange spot for a birthmark, but it’s oddly pretty – the pink stands out against the guy’s hair and skin, brings out the blue of his eyes. “Are you burnt anywhere else I should know about?”

“Just my pride,” Buck sighs. “Do you think they’ll fire me?”

“I think you should find a career that doesn’t involve explosive coffee machines,” Eddie says.

Buck nods. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

~*~

“So, did you get his number?”

Eddie jumps, hits his head on an open compartment of the truck, and curses in Spanish. “Hen, Dios,” he moans, rubbing his hair.

“Answer the question, Diaz.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie closes the compartment.

“You were looking at that barista like he was part of the menu,” she scoffs. “You’re just mad you got called out.”

“I wasn’t looking at him like anything,” Eddie protests feebly. He hasn’t even told the team one way or another that he’s bisexual and finally open (after a year and a half wrestling with himself) to dating men. It’s just that they’re annoying observant, and really, agreeing makes the whole coming-out thing moot.

“You kind of were,” Chim says. “You touched his face, Eddie.”

“I thought he had a burn!”

“Sure,” Hen says placatingly. “Well, you’ll just have to go back there and get his number.”

“I am not doing that,” Eddie grumbles. “That’s creepy.”

“How else are you supposed to meet people?” Hen asks.

“He could try apps like everyone else,” Chim points out.

“Okay, enough,” Eddie groans. “You guys are as bad as Chris trying to get me on the apps. I barely know how to use internet banking. Tinder isn’t happening. And neither is any other app you can think of!”

“Why not?” Hen demands.

“Yeah, you’re depriving us of our chance to swipe right and send outrageous messages on your behalf,” Chim protests.

“Because technology steals all your information and people lie,” Eddie says.

Mercifully, Chim and Hen are prevented from harassing him about his love life (or lack thereof) further by the alarm blaring. It takes Eddie approximately thirty seconds to put Buck the hot barista out of his head and focus on his job.

Well. Mostly.

~*~

They’re probably right, which annoys him.

It’s been years since Shannon died. And Eddie’s been lonely – first, in his grief, and then without it. He should get back out there, for his own happiness if nothing else. He doesn’t feel ready – but he’s not sure he ever will.

That doesn’t mean they’re right about stalking some poor guy who happens to be a hot barista. For all Eddie knows, he could be a terrible human being. Which is the whole reason he doesn’t use dating apps – because people lie on them. He prefers to get to know someone first – but nobody seems to want to do that anymore, especially when they find out he has a kid.

“You with us, Diaz?”

He looks up. Hen is watching him sympathetically. “Yeah?”

“Cards. Are you in?” She holds up the deck. “If you’re not it’s gonna be me, Chim, and Snap.”

“Don’t let it be snap, Eddie,” Chim begs.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs. “Deal me in.”

“Why the long face, baby?” Hen asks, expertly shuffling the deck. “You thinking about Barista Boy again?”

“No,” Eddie mutters, which – okay, not directly, but still. “Why would I be? It’s been three weeks.”

“He was pretty cute,” Hen points out. “And I’m a lesbian.”

“I agree,” Chimney says. “And I’m straight.”

“Seeing as we’re conversing about my love life – Bobby, care to weigh in?”

Bobby – standing at the kitchen counter and beginning their dinner – holds his hands up in defeat. “Of course not, Eddie,” he says placatingly. “Chimney and Hen are coming from a place of love.” There’s an evil little twinkle in his eye, though. “Although, you did seem pretty taken by him.”

“Oh my God,” Eddie groans. “You guys are worse than my abuela! It’s always _Edmundo, you need to settle down, find a nice novia, be traditional_ -”

“So she doesn’t ever suggest you find a nice boyfriend, then?” Bobby asks.

“I haven’t told my grandmother I’m interested in men, no, and I actually haven’t told anyone here either,” he says, flustered. “You all just assumed.”

“But you haven’t told us we’re wrong,” Hen points out. “ _I’m not into dudes_ was not one of the many listed reasons as to why you can’t ask out Barista Boy.”

“Well, I didn’t have to come out by just agreeing with you,” Eddie sighs.

The alarm goes, mercifully saving him from any further conversation. They’re in their turnout gear and out the door in a minute and a half, on their way to what’s come through as a five-person accident down at the new bar and grill.

“What kind of accident?” Eddie asks, thinking of all the things that could go wrong at a bar and grill.

“Says something on the terminal about plates,” Bobby says, sounding as confused as Eddie feels by that sentence. “Uh – we’ll work it out when we get there.”

It doesn’t take much to work out. When they walk in, it becomes obvious what’s happened – there are plates all over the floor, and plenty of people in various stages of bleeding.

“What happened?” Bobby asks the manager.

“Some idiot stacked the ceramics up right next to one of the flame pillars,” he sighs. “They exploded.”

“Exploding glassware,” Eddie marvels. “Where’s the idiot?”

The manager points – and Eddie feels his stomach drop through the floor. The idiot in question is Buck, who has a tea towel held to his arm and looks indignant at the nickname.

“Hey,” he says heatedly. “I was the one who said not to stack them up there because they’d explode! Sure, blame the new guy.”

So Buck has a new job. A new job that apparently requires him to wear tight black jeans and a black polo shirt with the company’s logo on it. He’s also wearing a baseball cap backwards, and he should look stupid, but he mostly just looks hot.

“Eddie, you treat the idiot,” Bobby says, amused. “Hen, Chim, triage the others.”

Of course Bobby’s in on it. Of fucking course.

Eddie makes his way over to Buck with the med kit, sighing, and gestures to the bench. “Hello again,” he says.

“Do I know you?” Buck asks suspiciously. He seems like he’s still smarting from the manager’s comment.

Eddie sighs, inspecting the cut on Buck’s arm. It’s not deep, but it is bleeding enough to warrant sealing the wound. “The café?” he asks. “When you exploded the coffee machine.”

Buck scrunches his nose up. It’s stupidly cute. “Um… oh!” He brightens. “Yeah, I remember. You told me to get a different job.” He holds his unhurt arm out. “Here I am! New job.”

“New accident,” Eddie remarks dryly. “Bad run of luck for you.”

“That’s kind of my thing.”

“What, bad luck?” Eddie peels the tea towel back from his arm; the wound is bleeding sluggishly, but it isn’t long or deep. Eddie reaches for some skin sealant and butterfly bandages. It should be enough to allow it to heal.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “I was telling the truth. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Uh huh. Last time I saw you, you blew up a coffee machine.” Eddie wipes the wound clean; it’ll definitely heal on its own. “That tea towel is probably a breeding ground for nasty bacteria,” he says, putting the butterfly bandages in place. “If you get a fever in the next day or two, make sure you get checked out.”

“Okay.” Buck watches him work. “Hey, what are the chances it’s you again, huh?”

What are the chances, Eddie thinks despairingly, knowing that Hen and Chim will have more than a few sniggering remarks to make about this. “Well, considering our firehouse is a few blocks away, pretty good,” he says.

“You’re at the 118?” Buck asks curiously.

Eddie looks up. “How’d you know that?”

“Well, for one thing, your truck has a big 118 written on the side of it,” Buck says. “But I drive past it most days.”

“You do, huh?” Eddie wraps the cut with a bandage, securing it tightly. “There you go. All fixed. You really need to find a job that doesn’t involve glassware of any kind.”

“This wasn’t my fault,” Buck laments. “I was wrong place wrong time, I swear.”

“Sure.” Eddie stands, unable to hide the amused grin on his face. “Take care of yourself, Buck. Or try to.”

Buck salutes him, smiling back, and Eddie returns to the others. He has a feeling he’ll be seeing Buck around.

~*~

He’s not wrong.

The thing about not being wrong about seeing Buck around is that he doesn’t just – run into the guy at the grocery store. That would be too easy. Instead, it’s at a job – this one a construction site, with one male bleeding copiously from the mouth.

“Shotgun not,” Chimney says on the way there.

“What? You can’t shotgun not a priority one patient,” Hen says.

“I can and I will. I’ve seen zombie movies. I know how this ends.”

“Nobody’s turning into a zombie today,” Bobby says, with the put-upon voice of a man at his wit’s end with his misbehaving children.

“That’s what they all say!” Chimney says. “And then boom. 28 Days Later.”

“They were really fast zombies,” Eddie argues as they pull up outside the construction site. “I’m thinking more – Walking-Dead, shambling zombies, you know?”

“Not as interesting,” Hen says. “It has to be blood from the mouth.”

The construction site manager sees them and beelines for them. “Thank God you’re here,” he pants – he’s white faced and wide-eyed. “I think he broke his mouth.”

“… His mouth?” Chim asks, after a beat of silence.

“There’s blood everywhere,” he says. “C’mon, he’s through here-”

They round the corner with Eddie leading the charge – there’s someone sitting down on a rickety lawn chair, head tilted forward, a bloody rag in his lap.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters.

Buck looks up, grinning around a mouthful of blood. “Hey, nice to see you again, firefighter Diaz!” he says thickly, then leans over to spit.

Eddie rolls his eyes and approaches. “What’d you do this time, huh?”

“Piranha attack,” Buck says.

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. He sits back on his heels. Buck is wearing a hi-vis vest, blue jeans, work boots – like he actually belongs here.

“How many jobs do you have?” Eddie demands.

Buck blinks. “Just one.”

“Right. And this involves… fighting piranhas?” He opens his first aid bag. “If you’re having kinky roleplay sex, just tell me so I can treat you properly, okay?”

Buck laughs, flecking blood on his lips. It’s grotesque. “Piranha is a brand of power tools, Firefighter Diaz,” he says patiently. His eyes are sparkling cheekily, even past the blood. Eddie realizes he knows Buck’s name – but Buck doesn’t know his.

He sighs. “Right. And what happened?”

“A piece of… I think wood? Came free of a tool and hit me in the face.” Buck gestures vaguely. “Boss is off yelling at the apprentice who did it. I think he might be crying.”

“Open your mouth,” Eddie says, and cups Buck’s chin gently as he does. His teeth are bloody, but all intact – there’s a bite wound on his tongue, though, and his inner cheek. There’s blood still flowing from the wound on his tongue.

“Spit,” Eddie says, and Buck does. Eddie props his mouth open again and shoves a wad of gauze in there, much to Buck’s indignation. “Try not to bite me. You’ve bitten your tongue,” he says. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you might actually need stitches.”

“Wad?!” Buck asks, despite Eddie pressing on his tongue.

“Maybe if you didn’t get in stupid accidents you wouldn’t need tongue stitches,” Eddie scolds.

There’s a pat on his shoulder, and he turns to see Bobby standing there. “Your bedside manner could use some work,” he says, amused. “Hello, Buck. You’re becoming quite the frequent flyer.”

Buck waves, shrugs, like “what can you do?” which – there are plenty of things, like not getting injured every other week.

Eddie sighs. “C’mon,” he says, assisting Buck in standing. “Keep that pressed against your tongue. Time for a trip to the E.R.”

~*~

“Wad’s your ‘ame?”

Having wads of bloody gauze in is mouth has not stopped Buck from trying to strike up a conversation with them. Eddie would actually go as far as to say that it’s hardly slowed him down. Even though it’s causing bloody drool to cover his chin, and Eddie has to keep wiping it for him.

“You know my name,” Eddie says. He pulls the gauze out of Buck’s mouth – because it’s covered in drool and blood – and replaces it with another.

“Fir ‘ame,” Buck insists, rolling his eyes.

“Eddie,” he says, figuring that if they’re going to save this guy’s skin this often, they may as well be on a first-name basis. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Buck’s cheeks go a little pink at that, and Hen, taking Buck’s vitals, sniggers. Eddie shoots her a glare, confused about what he’s missing, and props Buck’s jaw open further, trying to inspect the damage properly. He can’t see much, even with a penlight, with the blood in Buck’s mouth.

Buck – who’s been fumbling in his pocket – produces his phone. He types something out, then holds it up.

**Edmundo?**

Christ. Not even being told to shut up will prevent Buck from carrying a conversation. But – he’s right, and that’s refreshing.

“Most people guess Eduardo,” he says. “Feeling sick? Lightheaded?”

Buck shakes his head distractedly, typing out another sentence on his phone, and holds it up.

**I bartended in south America for like 6months #iknowthings**

“Uh huh,” Eddie says dryly.

Hen, who’s reading the messages as well, sighs. “You aren’t one of those pretty white boys who goes backpacking through ethnically diverse countries and then assumes he knows everything about the culture, are you?” she asks.

Buck’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head more vigorously this time. He begins typing again – Eddie tries not to smile at the rapid click-click-click of the iPhone’s keyboard – and eventually holds the phone up.

**No! I just know that Eddie can be short for Edmundo! And also that it should be appreciation not appropriation!**

This sentence is punctuated by a kicked-puppy look at both of them. Hen smiles and pats Buck’s leg gently.

“Alright. You survive. For now.”

Click-click-click. Buck holds the phone up.

**Super threatening coming from a paramedic with lots of needles at her disposal! :’(**

“She’s all bark,” Eddie consoles Buck gently.

“I am not,” Hen says, amused, “and you know it, Diaz.”

Buck taps Eddie’s arm, making a face.

“What’s up?” Eddie asks. “Sick?”

Buck holds a hand up, wobbles it from side to side.

“That’ll be the blood in his stomach,” Hen says. “Let’s adjust the bed, see if that helps.”

They put the bedhead up, and Eddie grabs one of the disposable vomit bags, hands it to Buck. On a hunch, he pulls the gauze out of Buck’s mouth and tosses it aside.

Buck leans forward and spits into the bag, and, once he’s done, sits back up. Eddie – taking pity on him – grabs him a little bottle of water. “Sip,” he says. “Just a little. Don’t swallow.”

He catches sight of Buck’s smirk right before he takes a small mouthful of water, rinses, and then spits that too. He’s definitely missing something here, and he’s love to know what, but he knows they won’t tell him.

Once Buck’s rinsed his mouth, Eddie replaces the gauze pads. Buck meets his eyes meekly, gestures to his mouth.

“’Orry,” he says, sounding genuine.

Eddie softens, impossibly. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “This is sort of our job.”

Not long after, they’re at the hospital – off-ramping takes them almost twenty minutes with the amount of patients ahead of them, but they’re met by a team of triage nurses immediately and sent on their way.

“I’ll see you next time, Buck,” Eddie says, patting Buck’s leg as he leaves. He grins when he hears the indignant squawk behind him – like Buck has room to argue the point.

Besides, there’s a full moon coming up.

~*~

“Dispatch to 118.”

“Dispatch, this is Captain Nash from the 118. Go ahead.”

“We’ve got a welfare check on a male caller in the Novotel Hotel.” The dispatcher sounds… amused, almost. Like it’s funny that they’re about to head to their fourth call straight, with no dinner in sight. “Caller states he’s having an issue with a pair of handcuffs.”

Hen, Chim, and Eddie cackle. Bobby rolls his eyes at them, but he’s smiling as he comes back. “Roger that, dispatch. Status on our male?”

“He and his partner are conscious and breathing. They’re just stuck.”

“Roger.” Bobby turns to them. “Alright, team, I beg of you – show a little bit of professionalism with this one.”

“No promises,” Eddie sniggers as he climbs into the truck.

It’s not his fault the handcuff calls are always funny. Seriously, you’d think that handcuff keys are rice-grain sized with the frequency that people lose them in the least opportune moments. Eddie thinks people should need a licence for the damn things.

“Alright,” Bobby says when they park. “Looks like it’s the fifth floor, room 506. Our caller isn’t in distress, so we’ll get the key from reception. No need to break a door down if we don’t have to. Eddie, you’re on cuff duty. Hen, you can look for the key. Chim, you’re with the patient. Or patients.”

The receptionist is confused, but she takes them up to the fifth floor and swipes the door without complaint. Bobby enters first.

“LAFD,” he calls out.

“Good timing!” a familiar voice calls. “I was just wondering if I should grab the lu-”

Eddie rounds the corner and runs smack into Bobby, who’s stopped short – and notices why immediately.

Buck is kneeling on the bed, his legs on either side of a man so stupidly good-looking Eddie hates him for it. He’s only wearing boxer briefs – navy blue ones at that – and he’s twisted to be able to see who’s coming in. One hand is free, but the other is above his head, cuffed to the headboard. His partner’s hand is in much the same state.

There’s a bottle of strawberry flavoured lube and several condoms on the bed. Eddie can’t honestly tell if Buck’s bed-buddy is actually wearing anything. He just knows that some of the condom packets are open.

“You again,” Eddie says.

“I was really hoping it wasn’t you this time,” Buck says, his free hand over his face. “No offence.”

“Wait,” Buck’s… friend says. “You know this guy?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Buck says. “Every time I end up in trouble he’s somehow always the one responding and I was kinda hoping he wouldn’t tonight but…” He waves weakly at Eddie. “Hi.”

Eddie stares flatly. “Let me guess,” he says, taking in the cuffs and Buck’s kneeling position on the bed. “You lost the keys?”

“I uh,” Buck says. “I swallowed them.”

The entire room stops moving. Eddie, for the first time in his life, genuinely doesn’t know what to say. He has to take a moment to process – shakes his head a little, then says, “You… what?”

“Okay, I know it sounds crazy,” Buck says, rotating his torso to look at Eddie properly. He looks a little like a kicked puppy – his hair is all ruffled up and his cheeks are pink. Eddie tries not to pay attention to the fact that he’s only in boxers. “But I thought it would be kind of sexy to like, hold them in between my teeth, right-”

The guy underneath him jolts his hips up, causing Buck to lurch forward. “Why are you telling him that?” he demands.

“He asked,” Buck says reasonably.

“Okay,” Bobby says loudly, cutting through the argument that’s definitely brewing between them. “Hen… go downstairs and grab the emergency set of keys. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to use the power saw.”

“Power saw?” Buck’s date asks faintly.

“Yep,” Chim says. “Eddie, I’ll uh… I’ll take the bottom.”

“That position is taken,” Buck grins.

“Oh my God,” his date mutters.

“Right,” Eddie sighs, and kneels on the bed next to Buck. “How’re you doing, huh? Any pain?”

“Any shame?” Chimney asks.

“No,” Buck says, tinted pink as he meets Eddie’s eyes. “My shoulder is tired, and my leg kind of hurts from being in one place so long. But I’m okay.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie takes in the scene helplessly – they were definitely right at the point of having fun, because Buck’s date isn’t wearing anything. “Hey, how’s your tongue?” he asks.

“His tongue is just fine, trust me,” Buck’s date interrupts.

Buck’s face flames red, and he looks down. “You’re such an asshole,” he complains. “Why’d I come here with you again?”

“Okay, guys!” Chim interrupts. “Buck, do these cuffs use regular handcuff keys?”

Buck looks confused. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well, where’d you get them?” Eddie asks reasonably.

“The Pleasure Chest,” Buck says, blinking. “Where else would I have gotten them?”

God. They’re not even police issue, which means the keys they have in the truck might not even work. “Well,” Eddie sighs. “Looks like we’re waiting for a little while. Sure you’re not hurting anywhere?”

“Just my pride,” Buck says.

“Okay.” There’s not much to triage, then. He vaguely hears Buck’s date complaining to Chim – and, as he looks down at the guy, notices livid bruising on Buck’s hips and lower back.

“Jesus, Buck,” he breathes, reaching out and moving the waistband of Buck’s boxers. “What – hey, is this guy hurting you?”

“No,” Buck says quickly. “Well. Sort of. But.” He smiles what Eddie thinks is supposed to be a winning smile. “Safe, sane and consensual, I promise.”

“You kinky shit,” Chimney comments.

“Focus on your own patient,” Eddie barks. “Hey, how did he get these?” he demands. “This didn’t happen over one night, buddy, so-”

“Eddie, Eddie no,” Buck pleads, grabbing him with his free hand. “I just told you-”

“You’re _chained_ to a _bed!_ With the guy who hurt you!”

“Hey, man,” Buck’s date scowls, “I don’t know what business of yours it is whether or not he likes it rough, but if you’ve got a problem with it, maybe you should give it to him yourself instead of yelling at me?”

Buck sinks down on his haunches, hand over his face. Eddie blinks a few times, then says, “Okay. Sorry.”

“Keep fighting the good fight, Eddie,” Chimney says, patting him on the back.

Hen and Bobby return in the next moment with the keys. Thank God, they work – Eddie reaches up to uncuff Buck first, then assists him off the bed and to the small couch out in the living area. Buck hisses as he walks, and Eddie stays close by.

“Pins and needles,” Buck explains, working his ankles. Eddie takes his hand and massages it gently, then flips it over – both of Buck’s wrists are marked with cuff marks. He swallows. Buck was pulling on these – with some force, too.

“Buck, is this guy-”

“It’s like I said.” Buck tries to smile. “Safe, sane and consensual. I only met him today, Eddie. He didn’t do anything.”

“You handcuff yourself to strangers you met less than 24 hours ago?” Eddie demands.

“Don’t kinkshame me,” Buck complains. 

“Right, of course that’s what you’re worried about.” Eddie finds a spare blanket and brings it back to him. “You said your leg hurts,” he says. “From kneeling. Do you want me to check it out?”

Buck shakes his head. “Old injury,” he says. “It plays up if I’m in one spot too long, that’s all.”

“Right.” Eddie looks down – there are scars almost all the way up. “Looks nasty.”

“Crush injury,” Buck says quietly, pulling the blanket closer to him. “Car accident.”

“Right,” Eddie says again, helplessly this time. “But you walk on it. That’s really impressive.”

Buck gives him a small smile. Eddie rubs his hands on his legs – they’re still speaking with Buck’s partner in the other room, and they’ve left Eddie to it here, having put his foot in his mouth. Buck doesn’t want to talk about his leg, that much is obvious.

“Hey, Eddie?” Buck asks.

“Yeah?”

“What should I do about the keys?”

~*~

“So, Eddie. On a scale of one to never, how long is gonna take you to recover from seeing your sweet Buckaroo in handcuffs?”

Eddie doesn’t even lift his head from the table. “Fuck off, Chim.”

“I can’t tell what’s bothering him more,” Hen says. “That Buck was in handcuffs, or that another guy was benefitting from Buck being in handcuffs.”

“I’m gonna say fifty-fifty,” Chim says charitably. “So, Eddie, now that you know he likes men – which was your only flimsy excuse to not ask him out – what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay professional,” Eddie says to the table.

Hen snorts, and Chim says, “Professional, as in biting the head off the guy he was having entirely consensual bondage sex with?”

Eddie’s face flames beyond his control. “I don’t know that it’s bondage,” Hen says. “It was only cuffs, and only one cuff. Bondage includes ropes. I didn’t see any of those, or rope burns.”

“… You seem to know a lot about this?”

Hen holds her hands up just as Eddie lifts his head warily, thinking maybe they aren’t focusing on him anymore. “Karen and I like to keep things interesting,” she explains, entirely unselfconscious. “You men could never.”

“Could never what, tie someone up?” Chim asks. “I could. I’ll have you know I did boy scouts.”

“Be tied up,” Hen says, raising her eyebrows. “Giving over power to someone else.” She fixes her eyes on Eddie, and it’s too late for him to hide again. “Your boy Buck is pretty special for being able to do that,” she says.

“He’s not mine?” Eddie croaks, but it sounds like a question.

“Sure,” Hen snorts. “Tell his date that.”

~*~

Eddie goes home and looks up bondage. Five minutes into a video he’s never going to unsee, he slams the lid of his laptop shut, face flaming, trying to get the image of Buck in rope out of his head so that he can sleep.

He didn’t even think to check for rope marks.

~*~

“How can there be a fire at a fitness studio that promises _an invigorating time for seniors?_ ”

“Fires can start anywhere, Eddie,” Bobby says, amused. “Even where there’s seniors.”

A fitness studio for seniors is not where Eddie envisioned himself on Saturday morning. Then again, he also didn’t envision himself looking up bondage porn last night and thinking of Buck, so maybe it’s time for him to re-evaluate some things.

The fire is small, it turns out. A little old lady – who takes a shining to Bobby, much to the amusement of the rest of the crew – leads him in. “We think it was the kitchen,” she says. “Our instructor called it through. Oh, he’s a lovely boy.” She says it in the trembling voice of a lover, not a grandma.

“Your instructor called?” Bobby asks. “Eddie, Chim – you go with her to see the instructor, Hen and I will make sure the structure is sound. Looks like the wiring in this place is shoddy.”

“What happened, ma’am?” Eddie asks as they follow the woman down the hallway.

“Well it was the strangest thing! Halfway through our glass, a light just exploded – boom! – and the entire light itself fell out of the ceiling! Our instructor used the fire extinguisher, though-”

Eddie stops listening. There’s one man in the instructor’s room, wearing shorts of all things, looking like he’s attempting to calm a group of women.

“It’s not,” Eddie says.

“It is,” Chim sighs back.

“Buck?”

Buck turns around, waves. He’s wearing a bright green tank top and black shorts, and he’s sweating enough that his hair is wet. “Hey,” he says cheerfully. “It’s you guys again.”

“We’re doing our jobs,” Eddie says exasperatedly. “What are you doing?”

Buck blinks. “My job?” He puffs out his chest proudly. “I started Zumba instructing last week,” he explains. “I’m getting really good at it.”

Chimney eyes off the broken light fixture in the middle of the room, at the middle-aged women still gathered around, staring at Buck and giggling. “So,” he says. “Just how vigorously were you dancing?”

“We set the flames with the passion of our dancing,” Buck says, faux-zen, as he spreads his arms out.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what your class is passionate about,” Eddie says, irritated by the gaggle of women who are staring at Buck. “They know they can go home, right?”

“There’s a bunch of hot firefighters standing around,” Buck says. “Why would they go home?”

“You think we’re hot?” Chimney asks, looking oddly proud.

“Evan?”

The oldest lady of the group – who has to be about eighty odd – has approached Buck, smiling sweetly. Buck plasters on a smile, but it looks fake, even to Eddie.

“Hi, Gladys.”

“I was just wondering, honey, when the class would resume? Or if there would be a make up class later?”

Buck looks like he’d rather be anywhere than where he is, so Eddie intervenes. “Sorry, ladies,” he says, taking Buck’s arm. “Your instructor has unfortunately sustained a head injury as a result of the accident. He won’t be dancing any more today.” With that, he leads Buck out of there, with Chimney close on his heels.

“Hi, Hen,” Buck says as they exit. Hen and Bobby are looking up at the wiring. “How’s the kids?”

“Hey, Buck,” she says absently. “Nia’s just started kindergarten. Denny has decided that blowing things up is the epitome of what science has to offer, so-”

She blinks, looks back down. Buck smiles at her.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs. “What is it this week?”

“Zumba instructor,” Buck says.

“He was about to become a buffet for a woman wearing pink leg warmers,” Eddie says dryly. “As far as everyone here is concerned, he’s got a head injury and can’t take classes for the rest of the day, right?”

“You could try being a sugar baby,” Chim says thoughtfully, looking Buck up and down. “You’re pretty enough, and it really looks like you were getting somewhere with Gladys. Plus, think of the money.”

“Okay, we’ve already had to free him from handcuffs this month, can you not encourage him to pimp himself out please?” Eddie begs.

“What is it with you, kid?” Bobby sighs, and Buck smiles impishly. “Can’t keep a job?”

“I can keep them,” Buck argues. “I just like trying new things. I’m seeing what fits.”

“And your immediate thought after bartending and being a construction worker was being sexually exploited by a bunch of rich old women as a Zumba instructor?” Eddie asks.

“Bartending here doesn’t count,” Buck says. “I already did that in south America. That was just a stand-in for when I found something interesting – like this!”

“It had to be old ladies, huh?” Eddie asks.

“They’re not old, Eddie. They’re distinguished.”

“Those leg warmers are older than you are, Buck.”

~*~

“So, what’s it gonna be?”

Eddie walks up the steps to the dining room, only to find a bowl with money in it being passed around. He squints.

Chim throws in a five. “I think kid’s party host,” he says.

Hen throws in some money too. “I think office assistant,” she says. “I bet he looks real cute in a little tie. We haven’t seen him try professional yet.”

Eddie privately thinks that Buck would use a tie for anything other than its intended purpose, after the great Tinder mishap two weeks ago, but he lets it die when Bobby throws a twenty in, eliciting a gasp around the table.

“I think,” he says, smiling slightly, “we get a twofer. An office assistant at a company that runs children’s parties. Something will go wrong, he’ll step in.”

“And what are we saying for injuries?” Hen asks. “I’m going – swallows one of those balloons used for balloon animals.”

Chimney shakes his head. “Puts his back out trying to carry several children at once.”

“Are you guys seriously betting on when and how Buck will injure himself again?” Eddie asks disbelievingly.

They all look guilty for a moment. He rolls his eyes, strides over, and chucks a ten dollar note in the bowl. They officially have enough money for pizza.

“I don’t think he’ll be at work,” he says. “He’ll do something stupid. Like – I don’t know, risk his life to save a fucking puppy or something.”

~*~

“I can’t believe Eddie won the betting pool.”

Buck coughs up another lungful of lake water all over the decking. Eddie rubs his back, half relieved he’s alive and half wondering when Buck will throw in the towel and die as the gods clearly intended him to.

“You know, I’m not exactly pleased about that,” he says, taking the thermal blanket that Chimney hands him and wrapping it around Buck’s shoulders. “I was joking.”

“Your joke tempted fate,” Hen says. She’s flashing a light into Buck’s eyes. “Yeah, he’s going to hospital. No colour to him at all.”

“Betting pool?” Buck croaks.

“Nothing,” Eddie says quickly, glaring at Chim. “Your lips are blue. C’mon, let’s get you to the ambulance.”

“But the puppy,” Buck coughs.

“The puppy is okay,” Eddie says patiently, helping Buck to his feet. “He’s with the shelter volunteers and he’s going to the vet to get nice and warm, the same way you are.”

“You better not take me to a vet,” Buck shivers.

“You’d save money on medical bills,” Eddie says dryly, guiding Buck onto the gurney and beginning to strap him in. “Seriously, how are you not drowning in medical debt?”

“The construction worker job gave me insurance,” Buck shivers. “Haven’t gone to hospital other than that. C-Can’t I go home?”

“Nope,” Eddie says. “You’re a popsicle. You need to be professionally thawed out.”

Buck grins up at him. “You could help me,” he says, teeth chattering. “You’re a professional.”

Eddie hears Bobby choke on a laugh behind him and blushes furiously. “I’m, um, I’m not that kind of professional,” he says lamely.

“N-Not with t-that attitude.”

“Okay, Chatterbox,” Chimney says. “Any last words before we put you in the truck?”

“I still think Eddie could help,” Hen muses as she throws another blanket over Buck’s quaking body. “Look how red he is.”

Eddie shoots her a dirty look, hopping into the ambulance and securing the head of the gurney down. Buck tilts his head back to look at him. “Déjà vu,” he says.

“Yeah, and not the good kind.” Eddie sits down. “I’m gonna take your temperature.”

He uses an ear thermometer. It comes back lower than normal, but that was to be expected, all things considered.

“Eddie,” Buck says.

“Yeah?”

“You said betting pool.” Buck’s still shivering. “What were you talking about?”

“Okay, you know what?” Eddie says. “Hen, you explain the betting pool. You’re the one who started it!”

Hen looks a little guilty. “We do callouts for you so often we have a station betting pool,” she says. “Eddie bet you’d do something like try to save a puppy. So he won all the money in it.”

“Really?” Buck chews his lip. “How much was there?”

“About a hundred bucks,” Eddie says dryly. “You’re reliable, I’ll give you that much.”

“Seeing as I netted you all that money,” Buck says, turning to grin at him, “maybe you should take me out to dinner.”

Eddie splutters, turning bright red, and Hen laughs. “He’s got a point, Diaz,” she teases. “You’re a hundred bucks richer because of him.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, determinedly not looking at Buck’s playfully grinning face. “Right.”

~*~

“Anywhere that calls itself a country themed bar is a dark, dark place.”

“What’s wrong with country themed bars?” Bobby asks defensively.

“You’re showing your age, Cap,” Hen says.

“They’re the worst,” Eddie mutters. “I’m from Texas and even I think so. The floors are always sticky, there’s always a bunch of drunk old men trying to grope the waitresses, and the only thing consistently on the menu is chicken wings and waffle fries.”

He looks up to find them staring at him.

“Oddly specific,” Chimney says. “It might not be that bad.”

It is that bad.

They enter, looking for their broken bone victim, only to find the entire place writhing with bodies and the music turned up to 11. Eddie’s pretty sure he knows this song, and he’s pretty sure it’s never been used in a context that isn’t sexual.

“What the hell is this?” Chim yells over the music.

“Whatever it is, it looks country-themed,” Eddie shudders. “I hate country-theme. Nothing ever good comes from nights like these. Isn’t this place already country enough?”

“Think I’ve found our patient,” Bobby calls ahead. “And…”

“God, it’s him. _Again._ ”

Eddie pushes to the front. “How does he have any accidents left to-?”

Buck isn’t their patient.

Eddie isn’t sure who their patient is, to be fair. He stops looking the moment he sees the crowd – and, in the throng of it, Buck, sitting confidently astride the mechanical bull in the center. The bull is bucking wildly, still turned on, and Buck is holding on with only one hand, using the other to feel somewhere around the base of its neck.

“He’s dressed as a cowboy,” Eddie says blankly.

“While I admire his commitment to the role, we have an actual patient to worry about, Eddie,” Chimney says.

“He’s the only one in this place that can ride that thing,” the girl on the ground moans. Her arm is almost definitely broken; Hen is already triaging it. “He puts me and every other girl here to shame.”

“Wonder why that is,” Chim says slyly, and Eddie immediately thinks of having to free Buck and his friend from a pair of handcuffs last month.

“Where’s Bobby?” Eddie asks pointedly.

“Gone to find the manager.” Chimney kneels down with Hen; both of them have more experience in injuries than Eddie does, and have better training. “Why don’t you see if you can help Buck turn off that bull before he becomes our second patient?”

Eddie turns around and pushes through the crowd to help. Buck’s leaning back on the bull now, gripping with mostly his legs, and only ducks back down when the bull sways forward again, reaching under its neck. There’s a clank, and the whole thing stops moving.

“Okay, show’s over,” Eddie barks, opening the gate to the bull pit. Buck dismounts the bull with such flexibility and grace Eddie’s mouth goes a little dry – he’s dressed the part, with a flannel shirt buttoned up and tucked into low-riding jeans and cowboy boots. He looks unfairly, stupidly good – long legs, thick thighs, the musculature of his arms visible through the shirt.

“Hey, man,” Buck says cheerfully. “She gonna be okay?”

“Broken arm. And bruised ego.” Eddie looks him up and down. “Why are you dressed like one of the village people? Scratch that – why are you here?”

“I take my job seriously, Eddie,” Buck says pointedly. “And it’s Ridin’ Friday.”

“You work here now?”

“Yep!” Buck spreads his arms. “You’re looking at Pistol Whipper’s newest – and best – bartender.”

Eddie rubs his face. “You are going to break your neck here,” he says. “You are so accident prone I cannot believe you’re alive. Why would you tempt fate this way?”

“I didn’t come off that time,” Buck says indignantly.

Eddie remembers the patient’s comment and swallows, desperately trying not to blush or think about Buck in his boxers and handcuffed to a bed. “How are you so good at riding that thing anyway?”

Buck’s smile goes sly and teasing. “I get loads of practice,” he says.

There’s a cough behind him. Bobby has appeared with the manager, and he’s watching Eddie with an expression that can only be described as half-amused, half-exasperated.

“I uh,” Buck says, gesturing at the bull. “Turned it off.”

“Good,” the manager sighs. “I think we need a less aggressive one. You’re the only one in the entire place who can stay on it for more than a few seconds at a time. I can’t afford a lawsuit.”

“Come on, Eddie,” Bobby says, looking amused. “We’re off.”

Eddie turns to Buck. “I don’t care how good you are at riding things,” he says, and Buck flushes to the roots of his hair. “I don’t feel like splinting any part of your body. Don’t go anywhere near it. I’ll leave you here, I swear.”

“You wouldn’t,” Buck says, smiling.

Eddie grumbles as he picks his things up and joins Bobby. The man is silent for a moment.

Then, “So. He’s good at riding things, is he?”

~*~

They don’t even wait until they’re back at the firehouse to begin roasting him, which, seriously? Unfair.

“For the last time,” Eddie says. “I was talking about the bull.”

“What, how full of it you are?” Chimney asks.

“Eddie,” Hen says patiently. “That boy may as well be waving a big red flag at you that says he wants to fuck you.”

Eddie chokes on his water, and Chimney thumps him on the back.

“She’s right,” Bobby says, not looking up from his newspaper. “He seems like a nice enough kid. Good heart. You should take him on a date. Somewhere nice. Don’t handcuff him to anything.”

“Christ, Bobby, you too?” Eddie splutters. “I – I mean I don’t even have his number, so…”

“But you’d ask him if you did?” Chimney says.

He’s going red and he can feel it – the colour is crawling up his face rapidly. “Um,” he says. “Yeah. I guess. He seems nice.”

Hen snorts. “He’s a golden retriever in human form and we all know it,” she says. “So next time he calls, ask him.”

“I can’t ask him for his number while we’re on a call for him,” Eddie says. “That’s totally unprofessional.”

“So is a verbal shakedown of the guy he was about to ride into oblivion a month ago, and yet here we are, and you did that,” Chimney points out. Eddie puts his head in his hands before they can see his face turning beet red – seriously, why can’t they discuss someone else’s dating life?

“What’s the date?” Bobby asks.

“Fifth,” Eddie mumbles.

“Okay, so you’ve got maybe another two weeks before he gets himself into trouble again,” Bobby says reasonably. “You can work on a solution until then.”

“If you don’t want to ask him out on a call, why not just look him up on Facebook?” Hen asks curiously. “Or go to his workplace?”

“One, that would be stalking, and two, he changes workplaces every other week, so he’s probably not going to be riding bulls down at the Pistol Whipper by then,” Eddie mutters.

“I bet he’ll be riding something though,” Chimney says thoughtfully.

“Oh, shut up,” Eddie moans.

~*~

Five days later, the call comes in.

They have one roughly once a month, maybe one once every six weeks. It’s The Call for a reason – because it’s usually an accident with non-viable victims, one where they have to make decisions about who receives what care.

This is The Call.

“Caller is a twenty-six-year-old male involved in a motor vehicle collision,” Bobby briefs them on the way there. “We’ve got at least three cars and a truck involved at this one, probably more. Police are on scene for traffic direction and we’ve got a few more teams responding, but they’re all currently tied up – we’re taking one victim each.”

This is a worst-case scenario. Multiple victims needing triaging and not enough units to respond. “Condition of the other drivers?” Eddie asks.

“We haven’t had calls from the other drivers,” Bobby says tersely. “Just the male. Given that he’s conscious and able to move, Eddie, you’ll go to him.”

Eddie nods. It makes sense – he’s got the least training out of everyone here, so the victim that needs the least help goes to him. “Got it,” he says.

“I want triages over the radio the second we know what their conditions are,” Bobby says. “That’ll allow backup units to make judgment calls on who gets treated first. It’s also a matter of who can be safely extracted.”

“Could our caller see anything?” Hen asks. “Something that might tell us how well off the other victims are?”

“He’s stuck in his car,” Bobby says. “He’s the only one in it and can’t see.”

The scene of the accident is one of the worst Eddie’s witnessed. There are at least six cars, all in varying states of being crushed like tin-cans, and a truck on its side.

“How far away is our backup unit?” Chim asks.

“Ten minutes out. Start triaging, guys.”

There’s no fire, so they work their way down. Eddie’s first victim is non-viable, bisected by the dashboard of the vehicle being crushed inwards. He moves on.

“LAFD,” he calls. “Can anyone here me?”

A pause. Then, “Eddie?”

Fuck. That can’t be Buck. Buck’s luck surely cannot be this bad that he’s in this wreck. But Eddie finds himself jogging through the accident, towards the voice, noting that it’s the next car down – and, sure enough, sees a blonde head inside.

“Jesus, Buck,” he pants, rushing to the window. “Why’s it always you?”

“God is big mad at me for some reason,” Buck breathes, wincing. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Yeah, I’d say likewise, but you really need a good luck charm or something.” Eddie reaches in through the window – the glass is already smashed, airbags deployed, and there are little cuts all over Buck’s face, with a bigger one on his forehead still leaking blood. “You remember what happened?”

“No,” Buck says. “I’m in my car, right?”

“Yep, you are.” Oriented, which is good. “Did you lose consciousness?”

Buck frowns at him. “I… don’t know,” he says. “I… was driving? And then I woke up here. And then I called 911.”

Definite loss of consciousness, then. “So you were our caller,” Eddie says. “You were the only one. Keep your head still.”

Buck swallows, closes his eyes briefly. “Car accident,” he rasps. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Yeah. Pretty bad one. I need to assess you properly, alright? You gonna stay with me?”

“Yeah, I’m with you.” No word slurring – that’s good. “What do you need me to do?” Even better – able to cooperate and follow instructions.

“What day is it?” Eddie reaches for the penlight on his turnout coat.

“Monday.” Buck blinks as Eddie comes closer. “I was supposed to be at a job interview.”

“With your history, you’ll have another by tomorrow. Hold still, okay?” Eddie puts a hand on his head, gently, and flashes the light in Buck’s eyes. Both pupils contract, and Buck winces, though he doesn’t pull away. “You’ve got a head injury. Can you feel it?”

“I can feel the blood. Yeah.” Buck sounds shaky. “I don’t know, man. I was excited about this one.”

“What’s the date?”

“The tenth. Of January.”

“Good.” Eddie leans further inside the car – Buck’s head is bleeding at the front, but it’s slowed, and the cut is superficial, likely caused by windshield glass. “What had you so excited about this one?”

“It was more professional,” Buck says. “I would’ve been able – to move up a little bit. Get out of a sharehouse.”

Eddie frowns, noticing Buck’s breathing change. “Uh huh,” he says distractedly, putting his penlight back and reaching for the stethoscope he and the other paramedics keep on them. “What’s your name and date of birth?”

“Evan Buckley. 27th June, 1992.”

“That’s good. Do you remember what happened?”

“What happened?”

“How’d you hit your head? Do you remember?”

Buck moves it a little, then rests it, obviously remembering Eddie asked him not to. “Uh,” he says. “I… accident. But I don’t remember what – um, I don’t think it was me.”

Eddie nods, clicks his radio. “Diaz to Captain Nash,” he says.

“Go ahead, Eddie.”

“We’ve got a twenty-seven-year-old male patient with a head injury in the third car. Conscious and breathing, A and O by three.”

“Roger that, Eddie.”

Eddie tries the door. It’s not opening – Buck tracks his movement. “A and O,” he says. “What’s that mean?”

Eddie wouldn’t tell a stranger how they go about their job, but Buck doesn’t feel like a stranger at this point. “It means alert and oriented,” he says. “I asked you four questions and scored you on them. We use it to triage.”

“You said three, though,” Buck says.

“Yeah. You got the date, your name, and the day right, but you can’t remember what caused the accident, so you probably hit your head.” Eddie finally finds his stethoscope. “You’re not slurring your words, that’s good. I’m going to check your breathing, okay? You sound like you’re having trouble.”

Buck winces as Eddie puts the stethoscope on his chest. “I think some of my ribs might be broken,” he admits.

“Breath in. That’s it.”

Eddie can’t feel around like this, but he’s pretty sure Buck is right. They’ll have to be careful moving him, but there’s no sign that his lungs are punctured. “So,” he says. “You live with housemates?”

“Three of them,” Buck says. “I wanna move out, but L.A is expensive.”

“Tell me about it. Try having a kid.”

Buck smiles faintly. “You have a kid?”

Fuck, he didn’t mean to let that slip. “Christopher,” he says, and reaches for his med kit. “He’s seven.”

“Got a picture?”

Eddie pulls his phone out. Buck’s clearly looking for a distraction. “He’s my world,” he says, pulling up a photo of Chris in his turnout coat.

“He’s super adorable,” Buck says. “I uh – I love kids.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah.” Buck shifts, gasps. “I think something’s wrong with my leg.”

“Okay, okay, hang on. Try not to move.” Eddie grabs for some bandages. “Tell me more about your housemates.”

“I don’t know much about them.” Buck’s breath is a little shorter. “I just live there. They’re all nice enough. One of them is a chef.”

“A chef, huh? So good food?”

“He doesn’t cook when he’s not at work.”

Eddie manages to get a little further inside the car, bends his head – swallows when he sees that Buck’s left leg has a shard of glass sticking out of it, and that he’s bleeding sluggishly. It doesn’t look like it’s close to an artery, but that’ll be where the pain is coming from.

“Eddie?” Buck asks.

“Yeah?”

“Is it bad?”

“I don’t think so.” Eddie leans out. “I need to be able to get this car door open,” he says. “So I need to go get the jaws of life. I’m coming back, okay? Just wait here.”

“I can’t really go anywhere else,” Buck jokes feebly.

He gets the jaws in record time, jogs back to the car, and manages to pop the door off the hinges. Buck doesn’t move, even with the explosion of metal, and Eddie’s finally able to see that this is the extent of the injury so far.

“Alright,” he pants, putting the jaws down. “More tests, okay?”

“Sure.”

Eddie reaches in, grabs Buck’s left foot. “Wiggle your toes.”

Buck does, and he’s able to do it on the other side as well. “Good,” Eddie says. “That’s good. I’m gonna bandage up your leg, okay?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of whether it’s really wise to answer – but Buck has always responded better to knowing what’s going on.

“You have a piece of glass embedded in your thigh,” Eddie explains calmly. “I don’t think it’s serious but I need to stabilize the injury before we can move you anywhere, okay? It might hurt a little bit. Don’t move – let me do all the work.”

Buck swallows. “Okay.” Then, “Was it my fault?”

“What?” Eddie winces as Buck’s leg jerks instinctively in his grip, and he hisses in pain. “Sorry.”

“The accident,” Buck clarifies. “Was it my fault?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Looks like a truck ran a red and you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Are other people hurt?”

“There’s paramedics with them. Sorry.” He tries to smile as he secures the bandages around Buck’s leg. The muscles are trembling under his fingertips – Buck must be in pain by now with adrenaline wearing off. “You’re stuck with me. I probably have the least medical training out of everyone here.”

“You’ll do,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs, a little startled. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Is now a bad time to tell you I’m cold?”

Eddie looks up. Buck is shivering – he hasn’t lost enough blood for it to be attributable to that, but it could definitely be shock. Or it could be that Buck’s car is saying it’s only 38 degrees outside, and Buck is only wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

“Nah,” he lies, and stands up. “Don’t move.” With that, he strips out of his turnout coat and puts it over Buck’s body gently. “Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, sounding weirdly tremulous. “Um – I don’t wanna rush you, but when am I getting out of here?”

“We’ve got another team on the way who’ll be transporting you to hospital.”

“Not you?”

Eddie pauses. It sounds like Buck wants Eddie to come along, almost. “Maybe,” he says. “If we can extract you before the other victims you’ll go in our ambulance. I’ll try to stay with you if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “So, um – tell me more about Chris?”

Eddie keeps Buck talking, watching his teeth chatter – Eddie’s turnout coat isn’t much protection, considering this is the coldest day they’ve had all year, but it’s better than nothing. He’s relieved when Hen and Chim show up, gurney, backboard, and neck brace in tow.

“We got relieved,” Hen says. “Came as soon as we could. Hey, Buckaroo.”

“Hi, guys,” Buck says weakly.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Bobby asks, having just rejoined them.

“I’m pretty cold.”

“Okay, we’re gonna fix that. Eddie, what are we dealing with here?”

Eddie fits the neck brace around Buck’s neck, clips it into place, and feels a lot better for it. “Knock to the head,” he says. “Can’t tell how bad it is, but he did have temporary loss of consciousness. He’s not slurring his words and he’s pretty clear on what day it is and the date. Doesn’t remember the cause of the accident.” He turns to them. “He’s got some contusions to the chest from the seatbelt and broken ribs – no evidence of a punctured lung. Our biggest problem is this.”

He moves his turnout coat, exposing Buck’s leg. Hen kneels down close, shining a light on it. “It’s embedded,” Eddie says. “He’s not bleeding all that much, and I don’t think it’s near anything important, but-”

“It could be plugging an artery,” Hen says.

Buck closes his eyes. “Those are important, right?” he asks wearily.

“They sure are. Don’t worry, Buck. We’ve fixed everything else, we’ll fix this too.” Hen turns to them all. “Bring the gurney over. We might be able to get him right on it, minimize the movement needed. Sorry, baby. I’m gonna have to take Eddie’s jacket.”

“S’okay.” Buck sounds exhausted, and as Eddie watches, he tries to shift a little, closes his eyes and winces. His fingertips are playing with the edge of the bandage on his thigh like he wants to take it off, or maybe press down on the wound to try and relieve pain.

Eddie gnaws at his lip. “He’s fading pretty quick now,” he murmurs to Bobby. “Adrenaline is wearing off and he’s in pain. We’ve gotta move him quickly.”

“Noted.” Bobby looks into the car. “Can you move your arms, Buck?”

“Yeah. They’re fine.”

“Okay. Eddie, get down here with me.” Eddie kneels. “Buck, I want you to put your arm around Eddie’s shoulders, okay? Eddie – get his waist. I’m going to get his hips and his legs and we’re going to lift him out onto the gurney.”

“Got it, Cap.” Eddie waits until Buck’s arm is around him. “Ready?”

“On three. One, two-”

They lift. Buck gives a startled yelp of pain that sends a spike somewhere down deep in Eddie’s soul – but they get him to the gurney, get him settled, and Hen shakes out a few blankets to put over him. Eddie grabs the turnout coat and adds it, because Buck’s shivering has ramped up since it was confiscated.

“Alright, let’s move,” Bobby says. “Chim, I want you working on that leg wound. Hen, you’re driving. Eddie, vitals. Let’s go.”

Normally, Hen would be in the back, not Eddie. Bobby must’ve noticed his anxiety over having to leave Buck on his own – he appreciates the man running a little interference.

He clips a pulse-ox to Buck’s finger, gets the sticky pads out, and pushes Buck’s shirt up. He’s quite possibly more ripped than he was when he fell into the lake – there’s visible abs there, all the way up, surrounded by powerful hip flexors, ribs, and pecs.

Buck shivers. Eddie watches it race through his skin as he attaches the monitor, then grabs for the blood pressure cuff. “How’re we doing, Buck?” he asks.

“Warmer,” Buck says.

“That’s good.” He glances down; Chim has uncovered Buck’s leg and is peering at the shard of glass embedded in his thigh. When he sees Eddie looking, he shakes his head minutely.

Eddie clenches his teeth. The glass is staying until they get to hospital, then, with Buck’s pain probably worsening. He knows from experience that people tend to panic once the adrenaline has worn off and they have time to process the whole “Oh God something is sticking out of me” situation.

“Can you rate the pain for me?” Eddie asks.

“Five. Maybe six. I feel like it should hurt more?”

“It’s good that it doesn’t.” Eddie probes Buck’s chest gently; Buck gasps when he reaches the upper ribs on his left side. “Is the pain getting worse?”

“No,” Buck says. “Well, not until you did that.”

The machine beeps. Eddie looks over to it, chewing his lip.

“Blood pressure ninety-two over sixty,” he says. “A little on the low side. Are you still with me, Buck?”

“Yeah. My thigh feels wet.”

Eddie looks down. The bandages he’d wrapped the wound in are bloody and red – Buck’s still losing blood, then, a little quicker than he was in the car. Moving has jostled the wound. Chimney’s already working on it, packing more bandages and making them tighter.

“I think I’m bleeding on your stretcher,” Buck says. “Sorry.”

“Are you seriously apologizing for bleeding right now?”

Buck winces. “Yeah?”

“Don’t.” Eddie almost wants to smile – Buck hasn’t apologized for any other callout they’ve had to go to, and now, at the most serious one, he is. “That’s what they’re for. And we’ve got a sheet under you.”

Buck nods. His teeth are chattering again; Eddie finds a thermometer, takes his temperature. It comes back on the low side, but they were sitting out in the cold for a while.

“Who looks after Chris when you’re working?”

Eddie looks up. Buck’s watching him, only now he’s got his head leaned back against the pillows. Eddie can see his hands shaking, and he leans up to grab what he needs for an injection – Buck’s pain is clearly ramping up.

“I mean,” Buck says, watching his movements, “sorry. Wife, right?”

“His mom isn’t in the picture,” Eddie says, prepping a morphine injection. “Just me and him. Has been for a while.”

“That must be hard.” Buck’s teeth are still clattering together, making it a little hard to understand him. “What’s that?”

“Morphine. Have you had it before?”

“Yeah. I came off my motorbike when I was twenty.”

“Motorbike, huh?” Eddie moves the blanket and his turnout coat, pushes Buck’s sleeve up, and swabs the area with antiseptic. “So that’s how you got so good at riding things.”

Buck barks out a surprised laugh, and Eddie hears Chim mutter, “Oh my God, I can’t believe Hen is missing this.” He smiles to himself, looks up, and meets Buck’s eyes briefly – he looks a little better, a little steadier than he was.

“Pinch,” Eddie says, holding Buck’s skin firm as he sinks the needle in. Buck’s eyes crinkle at the corners, but there’s no indication of pain other than that. “This is intramuscular morphine, okay? It’ll take a few minutes to start working, but after that you might be a little sleepy.”

“Okay.”

Eddie withdraws the needle, caps it, and sets it to the side before rubbing Buck’s arm firmly. “Five milligrams of intramuscular morphine administered,” he says to Chim. “At nine fourteen.”

“Gotcha, Eddie.” Chim’s still peering at Buck’s leg. “Want the good news or the bad news?”

“Bad news first,” Buck says, beating Eddie to it.

“Well, the bad news is that this glass isn’t going anywhere, at least not in here,” Chimney says. “It’s embedded pretty deep and shifting you made it bleed more.”

“…So what’s the good news?”

“The good news is that I think it’s missed almost everything important, meaning you were unlucky enough to get into a car accident and lucky enough to avoid serious injury,” Chimney says. “Luck isn’t part of your record so I’m gonna call it double-luck. They should be able to extract the glass at the hospital – you might not even need to stay. Who’s gonna pick you up?”

There’s a long pause. Eddie looks up from Buck’s vitals and notes that he’s chewing his lip absently, looking a little worried.

“I’ll figure something out,” he hedges, realizing that both Eddie and Chim are waiting for a response.

Eddie remembers him mentioning housemates, but – is there really no one else who can come get him? Friends, family? He wants to ask – but Buck looks suddenly sad and faraway, and he doesn’t want to make it worse.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna see what my kid made for the science fair?”

Buck perks up a little. “Sure,” he says. “Okay.”

Eddie spends the rest of the ride scrolling through photos. At some point, the morphine takes effect – Buck stops shaking and his eyes get all soft and drowsy, and he starts mumbling his responses. Chim gives Eddie a thumbs-up from the other end of the gurney.

The hospital is ready for them, in a rare twist of fate, and they take Buck in for a brisk handover – Hen and Bobby stay back to straighten out the ambulance while Chim and Buck head in. Chim speaks to the nurse in charge while Eddie speaks to the emergency room doctor.

“Twenty-six-year-old male,” he says. “Possible broken ribs, temporary loss of consciousness due to a car accident. He’s got glass embedded in his thigh – wound is stable but was bleeding more enroute here. He’s had five milligrams of intramuscular morphine at nine fourteen. Initially presented as a coma scale fifteen but I downgraded to fourteen when he couldn’t tell me what happened.”

“Right.” The doctor steps up beside Buck, who blinks sleepily. “What’s your name, son?”

“Evan,” Buck says, in a faraway kind of voice that makes Eddie want to hug him. “But people call me Buck.”

“Okay, Buck. How’s the pain?”

“Can’t feel anything.” Buck blinks again. “I’m really sleepy.”

“That’ll be the morphine.” The doctor smiles. “Thanks, guys. We’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s abruptly not willing to leave. He looks down at Buck – only to find Buck looking back at him already, vaguely alarmed even with the morphine.

He smiles awkwardly, pats Buck’s good leg. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re in good hands here.” Even though they aren’t his. And he would feel better if they were.

“Okay,” Buck says uncertainly. “Thank you.”

It’s only once they leave the hospital and get back to the firehouse that Eddie realizes he’s forgotten his turnout coat.

~*~

“Call him.”

“I did, his phone is switched off or something.”

“Okay. Called the hospital?”

“He’s been discharged.”

“Are you going to sit and panic or should we just lift his address from the 911 calls he’s made?”

“Hen, that’s illegal.”

She shrugs, and Chimney nods along. “We can’t have you pouting forever, Eddie,” he says. “I know you wanted to stay at the hospital, much like the overbearing mother hen you secretly are inside-”

“I am not,” Eddie says crossly.

“But there were jobs to do.” Chim laces his fingers together and rests his head on his hands. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Facebook,” Chim says, and Eddie groans. “Find him on Facebook, shoot him a message, see how he’s going. Seriously, you’ve seen him almost naked.”

“Okay, you guys are nuts,” Eddie says exasperatedly. “He’s cute, but I’m not going to go to the effort of stalking him just to satisfy my own curiosity. He’s been in hospital – the last thing he needs is me bashing his door down.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what he needs,” Chim argues.

“Here,” Hen says, sliding her phone towards him.

“What’s this?”

Then he looks. She’s already found Buck and messaged him – something about having left some of his things in the ambulance – and asking for his address so that one of them can drop them off. Buck’s already answered, giving his address with a smiley face.

“Jesus, Hen,” Eddie says, red-faced. “You go.”

“Nah,” she says. “I have things to do.”

“So does Eddie,” Chim snickers. “His name is Buck.”

Eddie groans, rubbing his face as he gets up to go find coffee. Buck responded to the message which means he’s happy for them to go, but isn’t that kind of misleading? They don’t have any stuff of his. Eddie could maybe take some food or something – it’s not like Buck could drive anywhere even if his car isn’t a wreck…

“You think too much, Eddie.”

He looks up. Bobby is watching him kindly.

“Not you too,” he sighs.

“Hey, listen.” Bobby pushes a mug of coffee towards him, like he already knew Eddie was after some. “I know we tease you. But we want you to be happy, and I haven’t seen you like this around anyone. He’s a really good kid.”

“Are you saying I should do it?”

“I’m saying I think you owe it to yourself to try,” Bobby says gently. “And for the record – I think he wants more out of you than he did the guy we found him with in the hotel. He wanted you at the scene of the crash, and at the hospital.”

“I’m a familiar face,” Eddie deflects uncomfortably.

“We all are.” Bobby watches him. “You think it’s too good to be true.”

“A little, yeah.”

Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll never know unless you try,” he says. “Go see him. I get the feeling he doesn’t really have a lot of people in his life.”

Bobby’s right. And maybe that’s what makes him do it – he hates to think of Buck alone and in pain, even if he is out of the hospital.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

~*~

He picks up muffins – who doesn’t like those? – and heads around to the address.

It’s a big, single-story house just outside the city limits. When he knocks, nervously rocking on his heels and cradling the muffins in his hand, he’s surprised to see a girl answering.

“Hi,” she says slowly. She’s so young Eddie can’t believe her parents let her leave home. Maybe he’s just getting old.

“Hi,” Eddie says awkwardly. The girl is staring at him, wide-eyed, wearing one of those super fuzzy giant hoodies Chris keeps begging him for. “Uh, my name is Eddie. Is Buck here?”

“Um, yeah, but he was sort of in a car accident the other day. He’s not feeling great.”

Eddie swallows. “Trust me. He’ll know who I am.”

She looks at him suspiciously, but leaves the doorway – mostly closing it, smart move really, and calls, “Buck! There’s some hot guy named Eddie here to see you!”

Then there’s nothing. She doesn’t come back to the door, and Eddie waits, rocking on his heels a little nervously. This is probably overstepping about twenty different lines – but he needs to see for himself that Buck is fine.

The door swings open. Buck blinks at him.

“Eddie?” he asks.

“Hey,” Eddie says. “I came to see how you are.”

He’s surprised when Buck smiles, almost hopefully. “You did?”

“Yeah. I wanted to stay at the hospital, but my shift wasn’t over.”

Buck stands back to let him in. He’s limping on his left leg, and there’s some nasty bruising on his face and hairline – he’s a little pale, but all things considered, he looks okay.

“Thanks,” Buck says. “I really appreciate it. And – how nice you were, as well. When I was trapped in the car.”

Eddie smiles at him. “All in the job,” he says graciously. “You made it easy.”

Buck tints pink. “Um… do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. Are you supposed to be on that leg?”

“They didn’t say I couldn’t be. I’ve got tons of stitches, but that’s it.”

“Ribs?”

“Three broken. Sleeping is a bitch.” Buck walks into what Eddie presumes is the kitchen; Eddie follows, monitoring the limp carefully. He’s definitely favouring it, and he’s using his hand intermittently to lean on the wall or furniture, but he’s moving. That’s good.

“Uh,” Buck says, opening the pantry, “I’ve got like… seventeen kinds of tea and coffee.”

“Seventeen?”

“Two of my housemates hoard the stuff.”

“I’ll go coffee,” Eddie says, watching as Buck pulls down some stuff and moves to the counter with a visible wince. “I feel like I should be making you something.”

Buck waves him off. “You jaws-of-life me out of my wrecked car, I make you coffee,” he says. “It’s an even exchange.”

Eddie smiles. “If you say so.” He takes the coffee Buck hands him. “Thanks. When’d you get let out of hospital?”

“Yesterday afternoon.” Buck rubs his face; he looks sleepy, and now that Eddie’s looking, there’s a pillow crease on his cheek, which is oddly adorable for a grown man. “I spent all this morning arguing with insurance,” he groans. “And then I fell asleep watching Deadpool.”

“How did you fall asleep watching Deadpool?”

Buck pulls a little orange bottle out of his pocket and shakes it. “I’m a tiny bit high right now,” he admits.

Eddie can’t help it; he laughs. “You seem fine to me.”

“They’re not that strong I don’t think, but the whole world’s kinda soft around the edges. It’s neat.” Buck takes a sip of his own coffee and winces – it’s still hot. “Hey,” he says. “Thanks for coming to see me. That’s really nice.”

“I hope it wasn’t weird of me to show up at your house,” Eddie says uncomfortably. “I was gonna call ahead, but your phone…”

“Got smashed,” Buck finishes for him. “Yeah. Seriously, I’m glad you came. It’s uh, maybe it’s weird?” He laughs a little. “But I kinda feel like we’re friends, almost. Even though every single interaction we’ve had has been me calling 911 and you bailing me out.”

“We’re friends,” Eddie says. “I mean, I freed you from handcuffs after roleplay gone wrong. I think that definitely makes us friends.”

“Oh yeah, shit, that reminds me,” Buck says, hobbling to his feet. “Uh – I have your turnout coat.”

“Was wondering where that went,” Eddie says, getting up to follow him. Buck’s still got his mug, so Eddie keeps his own as Buck leads him down the hallway to the bedroom right at the end of the hall. The door’s a little ajar.

He stands in the doorway hesitantly as Buck enters, puts his mug down, and limps over to the corner. The room is big – the whole house is, actually – and Buck’s room is all dark woods and navy-blue sheets, interrupted with splashes of grey and white here and there. The bed looks sinfully cozy for the cold afternoon.

Buck’s gone to the corner, where Eddie’s turnout coat is folded up on top of a dresser. There’s a television mounted to the wall – something is paused, bathing the room in a dark blue glow.

“Here,” Buck says, hobbling back over to him. “Before I forget. Thanks for loaning it to me.”

“I didn’t want you to be cold,” Eddie says awkwardly.

Buck smiles. He looks stupidly cute with his ruffled blonde curls and that pillow crease in his cheek. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever gonna kiss me?”

Eddie flushes. “Uh – how – how did you-”

“I’ve known since I saw you salivating over my mechanical bull riding skills,” Buck says, smiling wider. “I didn’t think that’d be what would get your attention, but in hindsight, maybe I should’ve.”

Eddie grins helplessly. “Shut up and come here,” he murmurs, pulling Buck in by the back of the neck.

Buck’s mouth is like heaven, tastes of the tea he just made himself and his lips pillowy soft against Eddie’s. He’s letting Eddie drive it, even as he steps closer, putting a hand on Eddie’s waist. Eddie can feel him smile.

“So,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “I feel like you’re probably meant to be resting that leg and your ribs.”

“Yeah, I can’t make good on my mechanical bull riding skills right now,” Buck says, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. “But – I’m not doing anything. If you’re also not doing anything, do you want to watch Deadpool with me? I’ll start it from the start.”

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief around a smile. Buck’s sweet, and he seems to genuinely want Eddie’s company. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s do that.” He doesn’t particularly want to leave, anyway, because Buck looks stiff and bruised and very much like the only thing he should be doing is lounging in bed. “You wanna order some food?”

Buck brightens. “Yeah, I could eat.”

~*~

They order dumplings and fried rice and sit up against the headboard of Buck’s bed, watching mindless Netflix shows.

Eddie hasn’t done this in – well, he can’t ever remember doing it, truthfully, not even with Shannon because things happened so fast. Buck’s a little drowsy from his pain medication and probably still sore from the crash, but he seems more than happy to have Eddie there.

“So this is your place, huh?” Eddie asks, when the Netflix show rolls over into a trailer. “Cozy.”

“Yeah. It’s okay. I don’t know my housemates all that well – one of them is sort of a douchebag actually. I wanna get my own place.” Buck nibbles his lip. “Kind of hard when I keep changing jobs.”

“You could always stay in one,” Eddie says, amused. “But maybe a safe one? One that doesn’t involve mechanical bulls or exploding glassware?”

“You take the fun out of everything,” Buck says. “Hey, who’s got Chris?”

Buck remembered his kid’s name, which makes him feel warm all through. “My abuela,” he says. “She’s been begging to see him more anyway.”

Buck smiles. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, pretty close. My folks live in Texas along with my two sisters – I’ve just got my abuela and pepa here. You?”

“My family is in Pennsylvania,” Buck says – his tone isn’t unfriendly, but definitely suggests he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Pretty far,” Eddie comments. “How’d you end up out in California?”

“I travelled a lot,” Buck says. “Backpacked all the way through South America and Mexico, tried out a few different things. I figured I’d never lived in L.A and it’s sort of everyone’s dream to live here at least once. I wanted to know what I was missing.”

“And?” Eddie asks. “Have you found it?”

“Still looking,” Buck says, but he turns his head to smile. “I think I’m getting close, though.”

~*~

He stays over at Buck’s.

Not because he thinks anything is going to happen between them. He just – enjoys Buck’s company, and he thinks Buck might enjoy his, too. At some point, Buck pads off for a shower, and Eddie is left in his room, looking around at remnants of a life lived before Eddie knew him.

When Buck comes back, he’s wearing boxers and a loose t-shirt, limping on his injured leg. There’s an aquacel bandage over it. Eddie can see how bruised up he is, and wonders if it would be inappropriate of him to offer to massage some bruise cream in.

“Broken ribs rule,” Buck jokes weakly, folding down onto the bed. “I’m really not going to be a lot of fun tonight.”

Eddie grabs his bottle of pain pills. “I don’t care,” he says. “Here.”

Buck takes them, sinks into the pillows, and yawns. “Hey… thanks for coming by,” he says.

“Sorry Hen lied to you about having your stuff.”

Buck frowns, looking a little blank. “My stuff?”

“Yeah. She told me that she told you we’d accidentally left some of your stuff in our ambulance.”

Buck’s still frowning. “No,” he says slowly. “She never said that.”

“What?” Eddie demands.

“She said you were worried about me and wanted to check on me but you were too scared to message me yourself,” he says. “Not that I had stuff in the ambulance.”

Eddie rubs his face, scowls when Buck begins to smile. “Did she double-trick you?” he asks.

“I’ll kill her.”

“Why? We’re in bed. It worked.”

“Don’t let her have the win, Buck. Please.”

~*~

He wakes in the middle of the night, momentarily disoriented.

He registers a warm body in his arms, an unfamiliar but comforting scent surrounding him. When he opens his eyes, it’s to the blue glow emitting from a TV screen, and the moon beaming through a window.

The body in his arms shifts. Buck. Eddie’s spooning him – he’s got a leg wedged in between Buck’s, keeping the injured one a little aloft. Buck’s still fast asleep, and the scent of his shampoo is drifting over to Eddie.

He settles, wraps an arm gently over Buck’s waist. Buck shifts again, like he’s rolling onto his back – that must’ve been what woke Eddie up.

He moves a little. Buck settles, tilted sideways, pressed into Eddie’s chest. The position seems to take the pressure off his ribs, because he sighs and clutches at Eddie’s hand clumsily.

Eddie smiles, settles. He’s happy to support Buck’s body the entire night if he has to.

Not that he’ll ever admit it – but he’s kind of glad for Hen’s meddling.


End file.
